Need
by DeniseV
Summary: Clay and Mac go away to try to heal their pain following the death of Sadik Fahd. This is a followup to my story One Small Step.


This is a follow-up to my story "One Small Step". I think this story works best as a companion to that story. You do not need to read it first, but it will be more meaningful if you do. Denise.  
  
********  
  
Mac sat, relaxed and comfortable, lazing in Clayton Webb's arms. The music played quietly in the background, a soothing Bach, Clay's choice that, combined with the ambient light that Clay had defended to the resting woman in his arms just days ago, worked to soothe the nerves of the tightly wound Marine colonel.  
  
She had spent the better part of the day getting her colleagues up to speed on the cases she was working that would require attention during the next week. Though she originally thought that a few hours would suffice in getting Harm and Sturgis informed of what needed to be done in her absence, a surprise visit by the Sec Nav stalled their progress for much of the day. What should have taken a few hours ended up taking twice as long.  
  
The Marine lawyer realized early on the trouble she would have getting out of JAG HQ before noon, and called Webb approaching the lunch hour to let him know she would be late.  
  
"I'm not going to be there for a while."  
  
"What happened?" Clay asked, a sound to his voice that seemed to the investigator in Mac suspiciously like a stifled yawn.  
  
"Sleeping in, are we?" she asked jokingly.  
  
"I turned the TV on. Big mistake," Clay yawned, not even attempting to hide it this time.  
  
"What, CNN didn't have anything interesting?" she asked, tapping her foot in frustration as she waited for Turner to return from court.  
  
"Actually, I stopped at Regis and Kelly. The last thing I remember is Kelly challenging Regis to a bike race through Manhattan."  
  
Mac laughed. "Did he take her up on it?"  
  
"I have no idea." Mac laughed again at the dry, 'I could not care less' reaction from the spy.  
  
"Didn't you sleep okay last night?"  
  
"I slept fine. Great, actually." Mac smiled. She had woken several times during the night and was happy to see Clay sleeping soundly each time. She, too felt better after their rejuvenating slumber. "I'm still a little jet-lagged, I think. So, what's the hold up?"  
  
"Sec Nav stopped by," she answered, though her thoughts were on how jetlag combined with a glass or two of wine worked as a pretty effective sedative.  
  
"That can't be good," Clay responded, understanding the implications of the big guy making an unexpected appearance.  
  
"No. The admiral's keeping me out of it, but he's had Harm holed up with him since we spoke earlier this morning."  
  
"You and Harm spoke?" he asked hesitantly, concern evident in the query.  
  
"We did. I'll tell you about it later."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Mac sensed a change in Clay; the simple 'okay' was just like him. It was a tactic that the CIA man had used any number of times to coax more information out of her. This time, she didn't really need any push to explain a little more about how things went with Harm. She owed Clay that much.  
  
"It is okay. I think Harm is clear on us now."  
  
"Clear?"  
  
"I hate it when you do that." The one word response made sense when interviewing a suspect or a witness; it tended to keep the interviewee off balance. Clay needed to stop using the technique in their private conversations.  
  
"Yes. Clear. On us. You and me. I told him we were going away. He tried to talk me out of it. I told him he couldn't."  
  
"That's good." Mac knew there was more that Clayton Webb wanted to say, but she also knew he was smart enough and sensitive enough to hold off on any more comments until she was in a place where she could speak more freely.  
  
"It is. There's more, but I'll tell you that when I see you, which looks like it won't be until sometime around four."  
  
"Huh, that is later than we planned."  
  
"I know," Mac said, regrettably.  
  
"Well, that can work. I can go by your place and pack you a bag."  
  
There was a long, lingering pause following the CIA operative's suggestion, an indicator that Mac was trying to decide how she felt about that option. Though they had been seeing each other for eight months, their relationship had only recently advanced to include the long overdue physical aspect. And that part of their relationship was, like every other facet of it, worked in during Clay's rare sojourns back to D.C. This time he'd been gone for nearly two achingly long months, culminating in the horrors of the Sadik Fahd killing and its aftermath.  
  
There had not yet been an exchange of keys to each other's homes.  
  
"Sarah?" Clay asked, wondering if he'd lost her to some work related business, or if her hesitation was something more personal that he should be concerned about.  
  
"Yeah, Clay. I'm sorry. Um, you don't have a key."  
  
"Hmm. Gee, let me think. How might someone in my profession get into a person's place without a key?"  
  
"Okay, okay, Sarcastic Agent Man. Very funny. You know, you could just stop by and pick up the key."  
  
Webb pondered the suggestion, but decided instantly that the option held no advantage, especially with the chance of getting corralled by Harmon Rabb ever present. He knew he would have to face his friend eventually; he was sure that this was not the day for that confrontation.  
  
"No thanks. I'll do it my way."  
  
"Suit yourself, Mr. Sinatra." She hesitated briefly, and then said, "Um, if I said I was uncomfortable with you doing that would it change your decision?"  
  
"Of course it would."  
  
"Then can I meet you in the parking lot?" Mac checked her watch. "Twelve hundred hours?"  
  
"Yes." He sounded...bothered, but Mac knew he wouldn't admit to it. And she didn't have the time to explain her reasons now. She would be ready when he stopped by for the keys.  
  
"Thanks. By the way, where are we going? How do I know you'll pack the right things?"  
  
"Trust me. I will."  
  
"You didn't answer the first question," Mac pointedly reminded him.  
  
"I know. Pretty slick, huh? Now watch the pro handle this change of subject. I know that your bathroom is your shrine to Estee Lauder. Do you want to give me a hint about what I should take and what I should leave?"  
  
"It's not Estee Lauder and you need to pack it all, Clay," she said, seriously in jest.  
  
"What!"  
  
"Just kidding, dear. You're pretty gullible for a spy."  
  
"Only with you, darling."  
  
"I have a cosmetic bag that I keep packed for travel. It's on the bottom shelf in the linen closet."  
  
"Thank you. Who knew you'd be such a cut-up."  
  
"Why thanks, Clay. Sweet of you to say," Mac said cheerfully.  
  
"I'll get myself packed and then head over to your place and throw some things in a bag for you. We can leave from there."  
  
"Leave for where?" A girl could hope.  
  
"I see what you did there. Almost got me. Did you say something about me being gullible?" Mac smiled at the thought of Clay in such a playful mood. Things had been so serious and strained this week between them. They both looked forward to these days away to try to put the troubles behind them. The couple knew they were not through with the serious discussion; they had many things to talk about; many things to settle. But wiping the slate clean, a fresh start as they headed toward the first days of spring, held much appeal for the JAG lawyer and the CIA operative.  
  
"Hmm. Oprah's on at three if you get bored. See you later." She heard the spy chuckle at the other end of the line as he hung up the phone.  
  
********  
  
Mac sighed as she nestled deeper into Clay's chest, her hand rubbing lazily over the soft feel of his shirt.  
  
"Comfortable?" Clay asked sleepily, his hand alternately stroking her hair and then making its way down her shoulder to her arm, resting there a long while before heading back to allow his fingers to thread once again through Mac's hair. Bach continued playing in the background as the foreground held a golden glow from candles scattered throughout Mac's cozy living room.  
  
"Mmmm."  
  
"Uh, oh," Clay laughed, brushing his chin against the side of Mac's head and kissing her forehead.  
  
"What's funny?" she asked, turning her head to land a quick kiss on the spy's cheek.  
  
"Us. I don't think we're gonna make it to the B&B tonight."  
  
"There's always tomorrow," Mac offered, turning slightly to get a taste of Clay's now perfectly positioned and perfectly tempting neck.  
  
The agent enjoyed the feel of Mac's lips there, but the practical and courteous gentleman raised by Porter Webb decided to make a most unwelcome appearance; good thing he was also an experienced multi-tasker.  
  
"That's true, but if we're not going tonight we should call the inn and tell them." Clay slid farther down on the couch, moving his body beneath hers, coming face to face with the beautiful Marine colonel. "Can I have some of that," he asked, taking her lips with his, not waiting for a reply.  
  
Mac returned the kiss, seductively rubbing her body against the muscled form of the man now lying beneath her. The kiss was a sensuous, unhurried affair, lacking the frenzy and fevered tension of their coupling days earlier. Though Clay's primary focus was on the passionate sensations Mac was bringing him, he still felt blindly for the cell phone on the coffee table behind his head.  
  
"Clay," Mac pleaded, wanting the spy's full attention.  
  
"I have to..." Clay started, trying to explain his intentions, but having his sentence cut short by the full lips of Sarah MacKenzie. He needed to take a breath or he'd start to see stars pretty fast. "Sarah," he began again, moving to more of a sitting position and out from under the tall beauty who'd come close to smothering him.  
  
Mac continued kissing Clay's neck, figuring she would get whatever part of the agent's body that she could.  
  
"Sarah, I need to call the B&B."  
  
"Ohh, no, don't do that," she whined, kissing Clay's neck and moving back up for the spy's mouth. One long, deep, sensuous kiss more and Mac said, "Let's just get in the car and go." She gave him a quick kiss on his forehead and got up from the sofa.  
  
Webb looked at her like she'd just been inhabited by an alien. "Now you wanna go?" he asked, confusion and not a little frustration evident on his handsome face.  
  
"Yeah. It's only a couple of hours, right?" Clay had finally given in and told Mac where they were headed for their time away, finally succumbing to the incessant guesses from the Marine over a dinner they had prepared together in Mac's kitchen earlier in the evening. She had seemed pleased with the choice of location, though once they took their positions on the living room sofa, they had both felt too comfortable to move from their respective spots; Mac's condo seemed like it would be a perfectly pleasing place to spend this night.  
  
Much to Clay's chagrin, it now seemed that Mac had gotten her second wind; Clay had hoped they would use that renewed energy for a far more enjoyable activity than a drive down to the Charlottesville countryside in the dark.  
  
"I kind of got used to the idea of doing something else tonight," Clay replied, rising from the sofa and wrapping his arms around Mac, pulling her close.  
  
Mac returned the embrace and then stood back, moving her hands from her starting point on his strong back, sliding them to Clay's shoulders and then all the way down his arms. She grabbed both of his hands tightly, the deep brown eyes staring him down. "These next few days aren't all about that," she said seriously.  
  
Clay looked into those eyes, understanding that Mac's emotions were still all over the place, despite all indications to the contrary just moments ago. He might otherwise have been hurt by the remark, a comment that suggested he was in the relationship solely for the sex. Sarah MacKenzie could not have been more off base.  
  
The spy knew that it was not meant the way it sounded.  
  
"I know," he said, clasping her hands affectionately. "So, since I won't be getting any of THAT tonight, let's load up the car and head out, Marine." Mac smiled a huge smile, glad to see that her comment had been taken the right way.  
  
They grabbed their coats and their cell phones and keys, and Mac checked that all of the candles that Clay lit for the romantic welcome upon her return from work were properly doused. Clay turned off the stereo and picked up Mac's suitcase.  
  
As Mac finished locking her door, she brushed past Clay and seductively whispered, "You know, I am looking forward to some of THAT." She continued walking ahead, the exaggerated sashaying of her hips assuring the operative of a uniquely uncomfortable drive to the converted former plantation.  
  
********  
  
"Can we stop for something to eat?" Mac asked as Clay drove down Route 29 towards their destination.  
  
"You're kidding, right?" he asked, a perplexed look on his face. "We ate less than two hours ago."  
  
"I know. We should have had some meat. All those healthy veggies weren't very filling."  
  
"We had pasta. And bread." There was a frown to his brow that he could tell Mac found amusing. He admired the slender beauty beside him. He knew he spoke for women everywhere, and some men, too, when he thought how unfair it was that someone could eat like she did and look like that.  
  
Mac looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. Clay shook his head and returned his eyes to the road.  
  
"Thank god we're beyond the reach of Beltway Burgers," Clay said dryly, continuing to drive just over the speed limit on the older four-lane highway. "Plus, it's ten o'clock. It's kind of late to eat."  
  
"Not if we were in France," she reminded him, the trip to Provence in December a lovely lingering memory for the Marine. They were officially 'on a break' from dating at the time, but soon after their return to D.C. the two had come to the conclusion that they were both ready to pursue whatever it was that they felt for each other. They had missed each other too much not to give 'them' a try.  
  
Little did they know how things would change over the course of the next two months. Sadik Fahd coming back for Mac had been bad enough, but now Clay was struggling again with his memories, and method of forgetting them. These stresses had combined for a mighty powerful threat to derail their relationship. That they'd both come to their senses after the clashes of the last week said so much about how they really felt toward one another.  
  
And their statements of love sealed the direction they would take to help soothe any lasting impact of those hurtful confrontations.  
  
"We're not in France anymore, Dorothy. It's too late for anything decent. We're not exactly dressed for a nice place anyway." Clay still wore the soft shirt that Mac had so admired earlier on the sofa, along with jeans and a black leather jacket. Mac, too, wore denim along with a green Marine t-shirt and a tan suede jacket with a faux fur collar.  
  
"A burger will do."  
  
"Uck. Fine. We'll stop at the next sign of civilization. I'll drop you off and you can get your 'food'," he said, emphasizing the word and readily projecting his true feelings about a fast food burger actually qualifying as such. "I'll go fill up the tank."  
  
"So romantic, Clay. Your mother would be so proud."  
  
"She would be impressed about my willingness to stand by someone who eats the way you do."  
  
"Fine." Mac folded her arms over her chest and jokingly pouted the rest of the way to the fast food destination.  
  
Clay pulled up to the door of the McDonald's in Warrenton. "I'm going next door for gas. Have that thing eaten before I get back."  
  
"Yes, sir," Mac answered, saluting the spy as she exited the car.  
  
Clay smiled. "I'm not kidding. I won't have that smell in my car."  
  
Mac made her way around to Clay's side of the car.  
  
"Aren't you being just a little bit anal?" Mac asked as she leaned down, face to face with her spy.  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, you better take this now, because once I've had my burger with onions, extra pickles and lots of mustard, you won't want it." She leaned into the car and kissed him, then turned and walked to get her late night snack.  
  
Clay grinned and let out a slight snort as he headed to the gas pump. He finished filling the tank and got in the car just as his mobile phone rang. He checked the display to see the incoming caller was Harmon Rabb.  
  
Rabb. This was just what he didn't need. He wondered what the Marine in the McDonald's would think about this call. Clay let it ring until the very last moment before voice mail would kick in and then reluctantly pushed the send button to answer the call.  
  
"What can I do for you, Harm?" he asked.  
  
"Hey, Clay. How're you doing?"  
  
"I'm good. I'm heading out of town, but I think you knew that. What do you want?"  
  
"Is Mac with you?" Clay thought that an odd question. He was about to respond when he became immediately suspicious of the question. 'How was it that Rabb called at the one moment that he and Mac were not together?' They had not been out of each other's sight since Mac arrived home at about five earlier that night. It was dark out, and though Clay did look around him, there was no way to tell whether Rabb was sitting parked in a car somewhere in the shadows, or otherwise far enough away to not be recognized.  
  
'Come on, Clayton,' he said to himself. He was feeling suddenly paranoid, his spy's mind working overtime. He was sitting there, looking annoyed and confused and concerned when Mac walked up to the car.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked. She knew immediately that something wasn't right.  
  
Clay held the phone against his chest. She looked at him again and said, "Clay, is there someone on the phone?"  
  
He shook his head and blinked his eyes, coming out of his stupor to say, "Here, it's your partner." He handed the phone to Mac.  
  
"What!" she shouted, taking the offered phone and demanding, "Harm? You called Clay when I asked you specifically not to do that."  
  
"Damn it, Mac. We need to talk," Clay heard Harm insist loudly through the cell phone's tiny speaker.  
  
"Don't yell at me, Harm." Mac was furious, and began pacing the length of Clay's car, which was still parked at the pump. He pulled it out of the way and parked it in front of the convenience store behind the gas pumps and quickly exited the car to see how the conversation was going.  
  
"I really could not give a damn about that. I thought we had an understanding?" Mac was riled up, standing with one hand on her hip as she awaited a response from Rabb.  
  
Clay stood in front of her, watching her face as she reacted silently to Harm's answer. She looked back at the spy, a slight smile coming to her face. Her expression changed again quickly, though. This time she projected more of a frustrated grin, but slowly even that changed to an inscrutable expression that he was ill-prepared to read.  
  
She continued listening and finally said, "No."  
  
The conversation was clearly not over, but again Mac replied, "No!" This time it was said with far less courtesy than before. She was getting angry, but Webb was getting furious.  
  
"Harm, this is all hard enough on everyone without you acting like this. I asked you if this could wait until we got back. You said you would. What's changed?" She walked away, away from the entrance to the store. Away from Clay. She was out of his hearing for a bit, then turned and looked up to find him still watching her, concern evident in his look and his carriage; he looked ready to jump through the phone and throttle Harmon Rabb.  
  
She took the phone away from her ear briefly and whispered, "I've got him just where I want him. I need another minute." Her hand went to his face and cupped his cheek briefly as she continued speaking to her partner.  
  
Clay looked out to the highway. They were in serious trouble of getting to the inn past midnight if they didn't get on the road again soon. He looked up into the sky, the clear, late winter night providing surprisingly good views of the stars, even in this well lit strip in Warrenton, Virginia. He wished they had left sooner: they could be sitting outside, all bundled up, star-gazing over a mug of hot chocolate in the Charlottesville hill country. Instead, they were wasting time in a gas station parking lot, arguing with Harmon Rabb.  
  
He hoped their hosts at the B&B would understand their delay.  
  
Mac raised her voice again, re-iterating the 'no' one more time. Clay had heard enough. He walked over to Mac and said, "May I?" Mac scowled at him, but gave up the cell phone anyway.  
  
"Harm? Where are you?" Mac watched as Clay listened intently. "Good. I think you should take the next few days, make that the next week," he smiled as he nodded to his companion, indicating his intention to spend the entire week with the Marine. "Think about how you've treated Sarah since we all returned from South America. Think through what you want to say to us. We'll come to see you when we get back to town."  
  
Clay was now hearing the same arguments that Mac's partner had made to her just moments ago. He listened patiently, and then said, "Harm, you had eight years to make your case. You've got to grab for it when the opportunity presents itself." Clay reached out and folded his hand in the one belonging to the beautiful woman standing next to him in the moonlight. He listened to more of Rabb's spiel and said, "Mac's not to blame for you messing that up. Neither am I."  
  
Mac could see that Harm was still not through. She clasped Clay's hand tighter. He looked down at their hands, and then up at her face. Her eyes and her touch told him to hold firm with her partner. Like he'd do anything but.  
  
"That's enough, Rabb. It's one thing to question my intentions. I expect that and I'm willing to debate you about it when I see you. But I think you have to know where Mac stands. She's a bright, fair and compassionate person. She's done everything in her power to make you pay attention to her. I've been watching you two for a long time, don't forget that. I'm not gonna let you malign her in any way. I'm sorry your long overdue epiphany came a little too late."  
  
Clay stared intently into Mac's eyes, knowing that hearing this one-sided conversation had to be disappointing at the very least. He would need to quickly explain exactly what Harm said once he could get the stubborn and increasingly rude Navy man off the phone.  
  
"Look, Harm. This isn't getting us anywhere. Thanks for holding down the fort for Sarah while we're gone. Goodbye," Clay said, snapping the phone shut. He took one deep breath, followed by a rather lengthy sigh, and then tossed the phone into the driver's seat of his car. He walked to the nearby brick wall and leaned up against it, letting out a frustrated, "Damn it."  
  
Mac leaned on the wall beside Clay. She watched him steam for a bit and then said, "You can't take half of what he says seriously."  
  
"Why do you always play the apologist for him?"  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mac asked, the hurt evident in her expression. Clay recognized that he was lashing out at her because the person he really wanted to challenge was not present, though the comment held a significant truth that they needed to talk about.  
  
"Whenever Rabb goes off the deep end, you're always there to defend him."  
  
"I-I'm..." Mac was flustered by the accusation.  
  
"I understand the whole 'covering your partner's back' thing."  
  
Mac cut him off. "I don't think you do get that. Not really. Your track record in partnering isn't exactly text book."  
  
"Gee, thanks."  
  
"Come on, Clay. You know what I mean. You like being in charge. You run operations and everyone works for you. Sharing is not on the list of things you do well."  
  
"I hope you don't mean that," he said pointedly, a hint of sadness in his tone.  
  
"At work, Clay." She rubbed his arm comfortingly, not wanting the wrong impression to be made during this serious conversation.  
  
Clay shook his head and laughed sardonically.  
  
"I am an only child," he said lightly.  
  
"So is Harm, and I think that has a lot to do with how you act with each other."  
  
Clay didn't like what he was hearing. "What is your point, Sarah?" he asked, frustration and crankiness combining to erase all trace of the playful mood from earlier in the day.  
  
"I'm trying to explain that Harm and I have helped each other in our work and in our personal lives for eight years now. It's an almost programmed way that I react with him. He is my best friend. He's like, I think of him like a brother," she started.  
  
"You think of him like a brother," Clay repeated slowly, his mimicking of her phrasing a clear indication that he didn't believe her.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Clay watched her. He didn't think she would lie about this. Not now. But it wasn't enough.  
  
"You haven't always," he challenged.  
  
"No."  
  
"But you do now. When did that change?"  
  
"Clay, my feelings for Harm are not the point here." Again, Clay cut her off.  
  
"Your feelings for Harm are the exclamation point in your life, Sarah."  
  
"They are not," Mac insisted.  
  
"They are. They color everything that you've done in your life since you two first met. They've had an impact on every other relationship in your life. They invade our relationship. I don't mean to be judgmental about it, either. It's not surprising, in fact it's pretty normal considering how much time you spent together. But I don't think denying his impact, his effect on you is going to help us. Those feelings represent who you are."  
  
"Clay, they don't."  
  
"Sarah..." this time Clay was the one cut off.  
  
"My feelings for Harm have evolved, Clay. And I don't deny that his interest since Paraguay, the very fact that he gave up his commission to come find us..."  
  
"You. To come find you."  
  
"It was an amazing event in my life. That he cared that much...it was confusing, and touching, and irritating all at once. But that was not the first time I'd felt all those conflicting emotions about Harm all at one time and it probably won't be the last. I love him and I will always have a need to stand up for him."  
  
"Even when he's wrong? Even when what he says and does threatens to come between us?"  
  
"That can't happen unless we let it, Clay," she insisted, looking him directly in the eye.  
  
He smiled at her earnestness, and then said, "Sarah, I don't think you realize that what you're saying here and what you said after I hung up with Harm contradict each other."  
  
"No they don't," Mac countered firmly.  
  
"They do."  
  
"What did I say?" Mac seemed genuinely confused by the prospect that Clay might be right on this point.  
  
"You said, and I quote, 'You can't take half of what he says seriously'."  
  
"I stand firm, then. It's true. You know it's true."  
  
"I don't know it's true all the time. Maybe he's right this time."  
  
"Right about what?" Mac didn't like what she was hearing.  
  
"Right about me not being right for you." Clay stared off at the highway once again, wondering which direction they would go on it when they finally headed away from this spot.  
  
"I assure you he's wrong. He's jealous, that's all. And mad. And a little pissed. He's jealous because he knows I've been happier than I've ever been and he had nothing to do with that. He's mad because he knows I was right when I told him it could never work out between us. And he's pissed at himself because he knows that what you said about missing his opportunity is true." She stepped closer and kissed him. "Let's get to the inn. We've got all week to work through this crap."  
  
"Now that's just nasty," he said, making a face as he tasted the remnants of her burger in her mouth.  
  
"Go drive your car," Mac instructed, pushing Clay toward the driver's side of the sporty vehicle.  
  
********  
  
Mac sat up in the bed as she waited for Clay to finish in the bathroom. He'd gotten up early; she had grabbed for her watch when she felt his absence in the bed almost two hours before. She fell back asleep waiting for Clay to return from wherever he'd gone, and now he seemed to be spending a surprisingly long time in the bathroom.  
  
It was early, only seven in the morning. She thought they were going to relax and spend time together these next days, and here they were, rising too early and at least one of them avoiding the other.  
  
Clay opened the door, entering the room in only his boxers and a towel thrown over his shoulder. He looked tired, and he avoided her eyes. Mac looked at him with sympathy, knowing he was thinking too much about Harmon Rabb and what he'd had to say the previous night.  
  
The spy opened the dresser drawer, grabbing a t-shirt and throwing it on quickly. He looked out the window to where the sun had risen not long ago over the ridge in the distance. Clay turned to take a pair of pants out of the armoire, but found the beautiful Marine in her long-sleeved, but very short silk nightie blocking his way.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"You know," he answered, walking around her to get to the antique closet.  
  
"Clay, we've got lots more important things to talk about while we're here than Harm's outburst last night."  
  
"Do you think I let you down in Paraguay?" he asked, his back to her now as he stared at the closed door.  
  
"No."  
  
"No?" he questioned.  
  
"No, you know that. What did he say to you?" Mac stepped closer to the spy, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. He shrugged it off just as gently, taking a seat in the arm chair under the window.  
  
"It's not Rabb." Mac watched Clay for a few moments, the pain he was feeling intensely obvious. His shoulders sagged with the weight of his thoughts, his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands before him. She took the chair next to him and leaned down to try to capture his attention, to get the man to raise his head and see that what she said was true. She could never blame him for what happened. Yes, things went terribly wrong, and yes, it was Clay's operation. If there was any blame to be placed, it could easily be placed in Clay's lap. Indeed, he was the person who put her in the position to be threatened and almost tortured.  
  
And it had been so easy for others to willingly place the blame with Clayton Webb.  
  
But those other people did not have the insight she did. They did not witness what she witnessed. Clay's efforts to keep himself the focus of the terrorists' attentions had saved Mac from the torture that Clay so bravely accepted in her place.  
  
No, she would never place the blame on Clay's shoulders. Ever.  
  
"You said last night that I didn't 'partner' well. Isn't that part of why things fell apart in South America? Because I couldn't trust enough?"  
  
"You trusted me. I think we partnered pretty well, both there and since coming home," Mac added, dipping her head farther down in hopes that Clay would look at her and catch the sincerity in her words by the look on her face.  
  
Clay finally looked at her. Her face spoke with such clarity, such honesty of her belief in him, even if Webb did think that much of Mac's remembrances of their time in the Chaco Boreal were clouded by denial of just how dire things had become because of him.  
  
"Thank god I did," he said. "I wouldn't have survived what...what they did to me if I thought I wouldn't be able to see you at the end of it."  
  
Mac leaned over and kissed the spy lightly.  
  
"Enough serious talk for now. We're still going to Monticello, right?" She didn't let him reply. "I'm taking a shower and then we're going to have our first gourmet breakfast of our stay."  
  
"Always hungry," he said as he leaned past the armoire to watch her retreat to the bathroom. "Are you sure you don't have tapeworm?" he called through the closing door.  
  
********  
  
"I can't believe that breakfast," Mac marveled, still flying high from the delicious gourmet feast.  
  
"You ate enough for two," he said, a sudden look of horror overcoming his handsome features. Mac laughed out loud.  
  
"If it were true, I'd be pretty scared, too," she laughed.  
  
"It's not that I don't want kids. I-I do," Clay admitted uncomfortably as he drove along the highway toward Thomas Jefferson's Monticello home.  
  
"I do, too. But it wouldn't be right to have a baby right now."  
  
"Yeah, we're...we..."  
  
"A child needs stability," Mac helped.  
  
"Right."  
  
"And both parents around is good," she continued, looking at him closely to catch his reaction.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"No ongoing, serious problems. They should be out of the way, too."  
  
"I agree," Clay said, knowing that this was just a hypothetical discussion, and that by the time they got close to the point of having a real discussion about having children the pair would have been long over the pains that they were both still suffering due to the dangerous events surrounding the life and death of Sadik Fahd.  
  
"Parents who love each other," Mac added.  
  
Clay looked at her. He smiled, knowing that she was thinking the same thing: one out of four, not a very good percentage.  
  
"Of course, having a doting grandmother living nearby is a plus."  
  
He laughed more at that. Okay, two out of five. Their odds were improving.  
  
Clay parked the car and they headed up to the ticket counter.  
  
"Have you been here before?" Clay asked.  
  
"No. All the years I've lived in the D.C. area and I never had a chance to get down here. I hear it's amazing."  
  
"You won't believe some of the things you'll see here. Jefferson was way ahead of his time."  
  
"He was quite a contradiction as it turns out, wasn't he?" Mac commented as they took their spot in the relatively short line. It was a weekday in late winter, and they'd arrived before the busloads of students that would bombard the parking lot later in the morning.  
  
He looked at her somewhat askance, not sure just what to make of the comment.  
  
"Don't look so worried. I like a mysterious Renaissance man," she smiled, moving close to him to share a G-rated kiss as two young girls looked on. The little girls giggled and the older one, who was about seven or eight years old, pulled on her mother's jacket and said, "Look mommy, they're kissing," and continued to giggle happily.  
  
"Sorry," Mac said to the mom while looking over at Clay, a mouthed 'Oops' following the apology. Clay smiled back with a shrug.  
  
"No, no, don't be sorry. I'd rather the girls see that than some of the stuff they're exposed to these days. Do you have any kids of your own?" she asked, adeptly pulling both girls back in line where they belonged. Loving discipline showed as the children minded their mother while she spoke with the couple.  
  
"We're not married," Clay started just as Mac said, "No." They looked at each other quizzically, curious about each other's chosen reaction.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. You seemed like you...well, sorry." The moment was somewhat uncomfortable for all three adults, though the children remained oblivious to their discomfort.  
  
Clay kneeled in front of the girls. Now at eye level with them, he asked, "Have you been here before?"  
  
The smaller of the two, certainly no more than five or six years old said, "Mommy said I had to wait 'til I was older to come. So here I am."  
  
Clay stifled a laugh and said, "How old are you?"  
  
"I turned six last month." Mac was impressed with this little girl. She looked over to the mother, who showed obvious pride in her little one, though it seemed that this woman was used to her girls taking the spotlight, and seemed perfectly happy to cede it.  
  
"Good for you. What's your name?" Mac enjoyed watching the interaction between Clay and the little girl. She could see how he would be a doting father, particularly of a little girl, though she suspected that any children they had would be well protected by Clayton Webb.  
  
"I'm Abigail, and my sister is Ellie. My mommy says I was named after Abigail Adams and my sister was named for Eleanor Roosevelt." Abigail leaned in close to Clay and whispered conspiratorially, "Ellie doesn't like to be called Eleanor."  
  
Clay stifled another laugh as he answered quietly, "I'll keep that in mind."  
  
The spy rose from his crouched position and said, "It was nice meeting you, Abigail," offering his hand to her. She took it and shook it, and then Clay turned to the mom and the older sister and said, "Ellie, I'm sure you and your mom and sister will have a nice visit. Looks like we'll be in the same group, so we'll see you later." Ellie smiled broadly as the nice man called her by her preferred moniker.  
  
As the group headed into the historic manse, the mother slowed her pace to stride alongside Mac. She leaned over and said, "What are you waiting for?" and moved away to mind her two budding history buffs.  
  
********  
  
Mac and Clay walked leisurely along the ridge that was home to the vegetable garden at Monticello. It was a pretty winter day, still quite cold, though the sun shone brightly, warming the couple from the winds whipping through the small valley in the near distance.  
  
"We should come back in the summer," Mac said as they walked away from the gardens and past the front of Thomas Jefferson's homestead on their way to the parking lot. "When everything's vibrant and alive."  
  
Clay considered her comments as they walked by the house, not noticing that Mac had stopped to take one last look at the magnificent home. Had he inadvertently chosen the worst of seasons to come here with Sarah MacKenzie? Did seeing the garden in its dormant state upset her, bringing another reminder of death into her life? Was it one more reminder of the death that he had brought to her doorstep?  
  
Hadn't he, after all, been the one who brought Sadik Fahd into her life?  
  
He heard fast approaching footsteps on the gravel pathway, only just then realizing that he had left the woman he loves behind. He stopped to allow her to catch up, recognizing her stride even over the sound of the crushed stone beneath her feet.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, slipping her hand through his arm as they moved on towards Clay's car.  
  
"I'm sorry. We should have waited to come here."  
  
Mac knew exactly what the spy was thinking. It wasn't the first time that his crushing guilt over the Paraguay mission had intruded on a pleasant moment between the two.  
  
"Clay, there was no hidden meaning about coming here in the summer. You really shouldn't try to play psychiatrist – it doesn't suit you. And by the way, the guilt thing is getting old. All I meant is that it would be beautiful here then, with the garden lush and in full growth." She didn't feel she was getting through...Clay looked unconvinced by her explanation.  
  
"Not every reference correlates back to Sadik. Imagine how awful life would be if it did."  
  
Mac knew Clay was still in a pretty dark place...his inability to sleep through the previous night was a good indicator of it. She felt they were making progress, albeit slow progress. But the more they talked it out now, the sooner they could get back to a relationship more like the one they had originally found: one that was happy and hopeful and exciting, and full of the joys of exploring their newfound love.  
  
The happy and hopeful had been missing of late. The exciting aspects had been replaced with a fevered, desperate quality that had satisfied neither of them emotionally.  
  
The reminder of Clay's restless night allowed her to see clearly the effect that not drinking had on Clayton Webb. She had been bothered by what she perceived as excessive reliance on alcohol during the most recent trip home for the operative. She had made a comment here and there, and in her own heightened state of anxiety lately, the comments had been biting and certainly not productive.  
  
There was no way for her to tell how long it had been going on, this dependence Clay now put on the bottle. What she knew was that he was continuing to feel intense guilt over his role in placing her life in jeopardy. And that thought brought her to realize that it was quite likely that Clay had been using the caña, and whatever else was handy, to keep the demons away in order to get through the sleepless nights when his mind would give him no rest from his memories of that terrible time in South America.  
  
They would need to address this problem during these next days; Mac was not looking forward to that confrontation, but she knew they could not return to D.C. and resume any semblance of a normal life together without a resolution.  
  
Clay was preparing to respond when Ellie and Abigail came running up to them. They were at Clay's car now, and Abigail said, looking at the car, "This looks like a big toy."  
  
"Perceptive, aren't they?" Mac whispered to Clay as she knelt down to the little six year old. "How'd you like the tour?"  
  
"It was neat. Did you see the automatic doors?" Her eyes lit up, and before she would allow an answer to her question, she proceeded to describe, in detail, how the tour guide demonstrated the doors in the parlor that opened automatically and dated back to colonial times.  
  
Mac chatted with Abigail and Ellie for a few minutes, Clay watching Mac admiringly as she interacted with the two girls. The girls' mother watched Clay. She walked closer to the man and said softly, "You're not getting any younger."  
  
Clayton Webb could have been put off by the comment; his mother would have considered it rude and in very poor taste. But Clay sensed that there was something worthwhile in her interest, and was observant enough to recognize the woman's own age.  
  
"It's kind of eerie how perfect strangers are now channeling my mother."  
  
The woman smiled, happy to see that he had taken her intrusive comment well. "I know I'm being forward here," she began, "but I almost missed my chance, and look at what I would have missed." She nodded her head to her children, still animatedly discussing Jefferson and slavery and summer kitchens with the lieutenant colonel. "You cannot know how children will change your life. You think you're intelligent, smart enough to figure out the impact they'll have. But you're really not capable of knowing." She saw that Clay was listening and thinking about what she'd said. He was obviously an intelligent and passionate man, she could see it, even through the weighty shroud of pain he currently carried.  
  
"What are you waiting for?"  
  
For some reason, this woman had his number, and he felt a strange desire to talk about this with her. He and Mac had yet to have this conversation...why did he feel that now was the time to discuss it, and with a stranger?  
  
He looked at the two special little girls laughing and talking with Mac and he knew the answer: if this really was their opportunity at happiness, then he needed to do whatever he could to get his head on straight and stop wasting time and energy on things that were distancing him from that goal.  
  
"We, we've had some trouble lately. We're still working through that...those problems. And we've only been dating for..."  
  
"How long have you known her? Because it's obvious that no matter how short of a time you've been together, you know each other as though you've been together for years."  
  
"You're pretty observant," Clay commented.  
  
"I'm a psychiatrist," she answered directly.  
  
Clay huffed, followed by a slight chuckle. 'Great', he thought, though the decision to continue with the conversation would not change based on the new information.  
  
"Look, I'm not analyzing anything. I'm not making any judgments. I don't know you and I don't know your friend well enough to do that. These are just meant as helpful observations, as well as giving you the benefit of my own personal experience." She pulled a card case out of her purse. "Here, here's my card. If you need help with your problems, maybe I can be of assistance."  
  
Clay hesitated for a moment, and then took the offered business card.  
  
"Thanks," he said out loud. 'Maybe you can', he thought to himself as he pocketed the information.  
  
********  
  
They strolled the grounds of the inn, the twilight casting a strange yellow glow across the hilly landscape.  
  
The property was a former plantation that had been impressively converted to a bed and breakfast. The main building stood on a rise in the small valley and was a non-traditional colonial design, wider and deeper than what was typically seen in Boston or Philadelphia. There were six two- story columns holding a roof over an expansive porch, a nod to the Greek porticos of old. The house was white with black trim, a simple farm house if you looked past the extensive addition in the back, as well as the outbuildings surrounding the home and the eighty-eight acres on which it currently resided.  
  
The buildings told an extraordinary story. A massive barn took its place to the right side of the main house, beginning at the front of the house and continuing back the depth of three of these grand homes. Pastures on the three sides not facing the homestead were the playground of the B&B's horses and cattle. The horses were available to guests to take out on the wooded, hilly trails of the property.  
  
Many other buildings were evidence that the plantation was quite an operation in its prime. More stables stood to the left of the property, as well as a building that once was the groom's quarters. This building, as well as the kennels and the animal hospital, had been converted to guest accommodations. The slaves quarters had also been re-done, as had the summer kitchen, a two-story affair that included a master bedroom loft and was attached to the main house by a covered walkway with grand, open arches.  
  
The main house also included some guest rooms as well as a library common room and the dining room where Clay and Mac had enjoyed the first gourmet meal of their stay.  
  
"This is such a peaceful place. How did you find it?" Mac asked as she leaned over the rail and petted the large chestnut beauty. The horse was clearly enjoying the attention, inching closer to get more of the affectionate pats being meted out by the Marine.  
  
"Mother has been sending people here for years. I don't know how she found it. Probably after a hunt – this is Virginia horse country. She has pretty good taste," he grinned shyly. Mac smiled. She found Clay's love and admiration for his mother wonderful and incredibly appealing. "It seemed just what the doctor ordered."  
  
"It does," she agreed, petting the top of Clay's head, too.  
  
"I suppose you expect me to whinnie like him now," Clay said wryly.  
  
"Nnnnot right now," Mac replied as she turned and walked toward the summer kitchen. Clay held a perplexed look for just a second, quickly understanding the suggestive nature of the comment.  
  
"So THAT's back on the agenda?" Clay smiled as he unlocked the door and allowed Mac to walk ahead through the threshold.  
  
"Could be," she replied seductively as she pulled him in through the door, taking his neck and forcing his face closer to hers for a kiss. Before she could follow through with her plan, she noticed something different in their room and gasped.  
  
A small dining table and two chairs had replaced the coffee table that had set between the pillowed sofa and the fireplace. The only light in the room came from the tall tapers atop two elegant silver candlesticks on the table, and the fire already roaring in the fireplace.  
  
China and silver adorned the table, and a side table held chafing dishes with what, from the delectable smells in the room, must be their next gourmet meal. A silver ice bucket sat on a stand, with what looked to Mac like champagne.  
  
"Ah, damn," Clay said, seeing the champagne alongside the table. "I forgot to tell them..." he started.  
  
"You arranged this?" Mac asked, a grin spreading across her face.  
  
"I didn't order the champagne. It must be a gift from the inn. Clay looked embarrassed and upset. Mac thought it a positive reaction considering her concern about his drinking of late. The fact that the appearance of the alcohol disturbed him told her that he had been considering his recent behavior. At least she hoped it did. She thought it also bode well for a little of THAT later on.  
  
"Such a romantic," Mac said, putting her hands around the spy's waist and stealing the kiss that she'd been distracted from earlier.  
  
"You don't mind about the champagne?" he asked, accepting the anxious tongue.  
  
She pulled back. Now that the bottle was here, Clay was obviously interested in drinking it. Damn.  
  
Clay read Mac's body language well enough.  
  
"So you do mind?"  
  
"I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me."  
  
"You've told me before that you didn't mind when people drank in front of you."  
  
"That's not what's bothering me, Clay. It's the way you use it that's the problem."  
  
Clay looked up and closed his eyes. He so did not want to have this conversation right now. But it seemed there was no going back. Though he wanted the tenor of this conversation to be civil, he found that despite his best efforts his defense mechanisms were now up and acting as a force field to try to protect him from the assault to come.  
  
"You know, Sarah, my having a drink here or there, off duty I might add, isn't hurting anyone. That's in stark contrast to the way you've been acting lately."  
  
"Is that so?" Mac asked, folding her arms in front of her and projecting the defensive stance of a warrior. If Clay wanted a fight, she was prepared to do battle.  
  
"So you're saying my actions to deal with my pain hurt you, but that watching you drink yourself numb doesn't hurt me?"  
  
A more direct hit couldn't have been achieved if he had taken an actual bullet to his heart. He had no answer to the question. It was obvious that she was suffering or she wouldn't have said it – Clay knew at least that much about Sarah MacKenzie. But that defense mechanism was still in place, doing its job, only now it would work to deflect rather than defend.  
  
"That's not your true pain. The real pain is still immediate for you. It's as though it was yesterday, and that's because it just happened three weeks ago. I've had Sadik out of my life for eight months."  
  
"Is that right? Is that why you can't sleep? Or to put it more precisely, is that why you can't sleep without a cocktail or three?"  
  
"Wh-what?" He was weakening, the Webb defenses had indeed suffered from the earlier brutality.  
  
"How much time did you spend with the shrink?"  
  
"I understand why you're turning this around on me."  
  
"Oh, please! And I understand why you use my pain to rationalize not dealing with your own."  
  
"I'm not doing that, Sarah."  
  
"Think carefully about how you answer this next question." Clay didn't like the threat behind the directive.  
  
"Why are you drinking so much?"  
  
Clay shook his head, swiping his hand through his hair, taming the unruly lock from his forehead. He was not prepared for this discussion, not that he ever thought he would be. But as all good warriors know, he recognized the pending loss and what he would truly suffer if he did not change his strategy.  
  
The truth. Sarah wanted and expected the truth. He had hoped to avoid the topic altogether; that somehow, maybe, he had been successful at hiding his dependence. That he was projecting the social drinker that he had always been, even though he knew deep down that he really did have a problem: using his learned skills as a spy to assure his supply of caña wherever he went would definitely be looked upon as a problem should his superiors find out about it.  
  
As he thought through how he would begin his answer, he started to feel the shame that he had been denying all week. He knew that his recent efforts to avoid getting into arguments with Mac had everything to do with wanting to avoid getting into his own problems in general about how he'd been dealing with the aftereffects of the Paraguay operation. But more specifically, it was to avoid having to deal with the shame of admitting to using something to numb the pain of those ongoing troubles when Mac was strong enough to get through this period without it.  
  
Clay sat wearily on the sofa and watched the fire burn, an apt metaphor it was for his own inner turmoil. Finally, he looked up at Mac.  
  
"God, I'm so messed up," he admitted. He remembered the decision he'd reached while talking to the psychiatrist at Monticello. He had barely been able to go a few hours before forsaking his commitment to the ultimate goal. He had forsaken his commitment to Sarah and a future together. For a drink. How pathetic.  
  
Mac sat next to Clay and grabbed his hand, echoing their positions from Clay's sofa just a few nights before.  
  
"We're both messed up. But we can fix that. We can fix it together." She watched him as he listened to her words, spoken in friendship and in love and he knew, finally, that it was true.  
  
"I ruined our evening," he said tiredly, the previous sleepless night combining with other sleepless nights and the day's painful discussions to drain the spy of what little energy he had left.  
  
"It was a lovely gesture. I won't forget it." She watched him a moment more, sensing that what Clay needed more than anything was a week's worth of sleep.  
  
"Hey," she said as she put her arm around his sagging shoulders, "why don't you get ready for bed? I'll put this away and we'll heat it up tomorrow."  
  
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked as he rose to head to the bedroom loft.  
  
Mac grinned and said, "Don't worry about me. I'll nibble as I go."  
  
Clay smiled. "I have no doubt about that."  
  
Mac smiled back and joined him at the bottom of the staircase. "Have no doubt about this," she started, holding his hand tightly. "We will get through this."  
  
Clay felt her strength through the loving touch and saw the deep conviction in her big, brown eyes. She had made her commitment to fixing what was broken. He pulled out the card he had received earlier in the day and handed it to Mac.  
  
Mac read it and laughed. "Martha Washington? That's funny," she added.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Abigail and Ellie's mom?" Mac added, the amused grin lighting her face and sending a warmth to Clayton Webb that he so desperately needed.  
  
"We talked a little while you and the girls were chatting."  
  
"Hm. That explains a lot."  
  
"It does," Clay agreed. "You asked me how much time I spent with the shrink. It wasn't much – only as much as I had to." He looked down, ashamed of his behavior earlier in the week, challenging Mac to get help when he had not been truthful about his own counseling.  
  
Mac thought back to her sessions with the Navy psychiatrist. She couldn't criticize Clay's actions when they had more or less mirrored her own.  
  
"I guess maybe we need to re-evaluate whether we could benefit from professional help?" Mac asked, wanting the decision to be a mutual one.  
  
"I already have," he said, tightening his grip on Mac's hand and then letting it go as he headed up the stairs.  
  
Mac's eyes filled with grateful tears as she watched him go.  
  
The End.  
  
Note: the place that Clay and Mac went to is a real bed and breakfast in Jefferson's Virginia. It's the Inn at Meander Plantation and it really is one of the nicest B&B stays I have ever experienced – and I have a lot of experience with B&Bs. The food truly is gourmet and the rooms are lovely (I stayed in Dependency # 1, the former slaves quarters, with two of my dogs – you gotta love a dog friendly B&B!). It was a wonderful place and I highly recommend it. Here's their website: 


End file.
